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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26416558">The Mourning Man</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breadisthebestofall/pseuds/Breadisthebestofall'>Breadisthebestofall</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Coming of King Arthur [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abused Harry Potter, Depressed Merlin (Merlin), Drug Use, Hedwig tires her best, Hurt/Comfort, Merlin Waiting for Arthur Pendragon's Return (Merlin), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recreational Drug Use, no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:20:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,567</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26416558</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breadisthebestofall/pseuds/Breadisthebestofall</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In an old forest, walks a mourning man. The forest is cold with sorrow. Not a creature dares to disturb the man, for the creatures are mourning too. They await the one who can thaw their forest of sorrow, their forest of ice.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>To be determined later</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Coming of King Arthur [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984603</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A/N: I hope you enjoy this new version as much as I stressed over my math quiz yesterday. :D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;. - Prologue - .&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.</p><p> </p><p>A lone man treads on an old path through a quiet and cold forest slowly. He carries an old traveling sack that clangs softly as he walks. Not a single word has come out of the man’s throat since he has started walking. His eyes cold and void of any emotions as they stare blankly at the overgrown path ahead. Clothes tattered and bloody like an armor-less knight that had fought many secret battles that would be forever replaying in his mind. </p><p> </p><p>He continues walking without a particular direction, endlessly. The few people that do happen to cross paths stay far away. Bloody clothes, empty eyes, silent, <em> a ghost </em> they thought and perhaps they are right. Perhaps this lonely man is a ghost, maybe he is a ghost that lost his family to bandits or disease, maybe he is a broken soldier that failed to protect his home and king, or maybe he is simply a man who has lost everything and has nothing left except for the things he carries in his sack?</p><p> </p><p>The man had unintentionally started tales of spirits that are unable to cross over to the other side that walk in the forest forever. People had begun to write stories of these so-called ‘spirits’ among other tales. The tales spoke of lost lovers, soldiers that failed to do their duty to protect their homes, evil spirits that remained full of hate for the world, forbidden love, and much more. </p><p> </p><p>Some had tried to find this particularly lonely man to see if it was true, none had found anything. The man had seemingly vanished out of existence. The ones who knew who this man was had written down a prophecy of the coming day that he would return to the world of the living, writing:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “In an old forest, walks a mourning man. The forest is cold with sorrow. Not a creature dares to disturb the man, for the creatures are mourning too. They await the golden one who can thaw their forest of sorrow, their forest of ice.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>They, then too, seemingly vanished and left no trace of their existence except for their stories, tales, and one other thing. The ones who knew, left behind something that very few had, magic. Hidden within the deep forests hides the last of their texts and history, only to be found centuries later by a young woman that held a deep interest in learning about the world and the history of it. </p><p> </p><p>Finding these remaining things, she brought them to her 3 other companions. They all agreed to keep them safe and to decipher the old language. Going through the few that could be read, they wrote down all of the information into a book and kept it safe. It held their ancestors' stories. It would be protected from anyone who wished to destroy the past. </p><p> </p><p>.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.</p><p> </p><p>It was silent.</p><p> </p><p>No creature stirred. </p><p> </p><p>None wanted to disturb the mourning man. For he had wandered the forest for years on end. The man walked endlessly, without purpose, without a will live, but yet not a will to die.</p><p> </p><p>Since the man had begun his endless walk, the forest had quickly turned from a place prospering with life and warmth to a place of cold and quiet, much like the man himself. </p><p> </p><p>Who he mourns for is a secret that none will speak of. They all remain in painful grief. Suffering in their own minds, forced to bear the weight of shame upon the man’s shoulders. </p><p> </p><p>Time does not pass within the forest. It remains in constant shadows under clouds that are heavy with tears that cannot fall. The fog hangs thickly along the ground with regret making it hard to move. Springs, rivers, and streams that brought the forest life, now refuse to flow while their hearts ache for the man. </p><p> </p><p>There is an old castle in the distance. It is as vacant as the forest he walks in. It was once flowing with people and wealth. Yet now it was eerily quiet and not a single sound could be heard coming from it. </p><p> </p><p>The man never gets too close to the castle. If he does, guilt crushes his lungs and old memories, painful ones, resurface. They bring nothing but more coldness to the forest. </p><p> </p><p>So, the mourning man continues his walk. Never stopping. </p><p> </p><p>Sometimes there will be whispers of the old. Other times it is the distant cry of a mourning beast.</p><p> </p><p>But he cannot hear their calls for he is unable to hope. </p><p> </p><p>He remains alone in an isolated prison of sadness and ice created by his own mind. </p><hr/><p>Chapter 1</p><hr/><p>It was the beginning of July, the sky began to darken as the sun fell from the cloudy sky. Clouds had begun to thicken with the promise of rain, much to the peoples delight after the boiling day that had. Although, there was one who despised the upcoming weather. That one was a young, skinny looking boy with oversized clothes and a peculiar looking scar upon his head. He was crouched under a bridge that was ridden in graffiti.  He had spent many hours here before to escape his cousin, including his gang. The buzzing lights had just turned on, a few of them flickering and threatened to burn out. Despite the plain and odd looking boy, if you got closer, you would notice a number of bruises on his skin. Large hands-like bruises were faded upon his throat as if someone had tried to strangle him, some on his arms from defending himself against his cousin’s gang, ones on his legs from falling down and from running into things to escape whatever danger he was in, and the many on his torso that would never be seen. </p><p> </p><p>No one thought much of this boy due to his Aunt and Uncle telling the concerned neighbors that he was constantly getting into fights with other children and picking on them over the summer. They would always say that they would be sending him back to a Juvenile Correctional Institution in hopes that he would return a much better behaved child. This was not the case as the boy had not done a single thing to be sent to such a place. The boy was simply a boy that was constantly being tormented by his own mind. His hair had grown slightly lighter over the years as he thinned, despite eating plenty during the school months. No one noticed these changes or if they did, they did not mention it. Who would want to get involved with a delinquent boy that had yet to fix his attitude despite going to a Correctional Institution for years?</p><p> </p><p>The sound of voices had notified Harry of a group of people coming. He curled into the fetal position and tried to make himself even more invisible. Throat constricting in fear of what’s to come, was it Dudley and his gang? Were they going to beat him again? Was it the police? Were they going to think he was vandalizing the tunnel? What if they were other wizards? Thoughts and questions ran rampant through his brain as his vision began to blur, all the while the people approached his hiding place. </p><p> </p><p>“Oi!” cut a sharp voice through Harry’s thoughts. “Who the hell are you!”</p><p> </p><p>Harry shuffled back farther. His bruises and sore muscles protesting at the movement. The other voices had stopped talking and one out of the group had begun to approach him. Slowly, carefully, step by step. Harry’s breathing quickened as they approached. A face came into view in the flickering lights under the bridge. It was a young looking boy with a freckled face, dark brown hair, blue eyes that had dark eye bags underneath them, and was wearing a noticeably baggy sweatshirt and tight fitting jeans. His face was contorted into an ugly sneer as he looked at Harry. </p><p> </p><p>Harry did not recognize these people and he remained silent in hopes that they were muggles. The rest of the group came into view and he noted that they were a group of 4. The boy that had first spoken to him, a redhead girl with long hair and green eyes, a boy with darker skin and curly brown hair with dark chocolate eyes, and a tall boy with large muscles, bright sea green eyes, and an odd hat that looked as if it was one with the hair. They each wore similar attire, old hand-me-down clothes that were a bit too big, thin (other than the one with the odd hat), either tight fitting jeans or baggy pants, and they looked to be around Harry’s age if it were not for the years of starvation that had stunted his growth. </p><p> </p><p>“Speak.” demanded the large one. </p><p> </p><p>Harry finally worked up enough courage to say something, “..........I’m Harry……….”</p><p> </p><p>“And what the hell are you doing in our spot?” asked the boy with freckles. </p><p> </p><p>“Hiding,” Harry mumbled. </p><p> </p><p>“Just let him be, he can stay as long as he doesn't rat us out,” said the much more compassionate redhead girl to the others. </p><p> </p><p>They all turned to Harry and looked at him expectantly. Surprisingly, he was able to get up to say, “I wont tell if you don’t tell my cousin where I hide from him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tch, fine.” relented the boy with freckles. </p><p> </p><p>The group pulled out at least 3 pieces of paper rolled up from their pockets. The one with the hat pulled out a lighter and let the end of each. <em> Oh, their smoking pot. </em> Harry just turned his head away as the smell of burning marijuana and hoped that Petunia or Vernon wouldn’t notice the reek when he returned back. </p><p> </p><p>A sharp gust of wind made Harry look outside. The sky was now black and the street lights were lighting the streets. He sighed and looked over to where the group was. They were laughing loudly, they each had big smiles and were enjoying themselves. Harry was jealous. </p><p> </p><p>He walked out from the bridge and into the chilly night air. His baggy clothes did nothing to help keep the heat in and he quickly found himself wishing he was back under the bridge to avoid the wind. Unfortunately, he could not stay as Vernon would lock all of the windows and doors at 9 p.m. sharp as to try and lock Harry out if he returned back too late at night. There were a number of occasions, before he went to Hogwarts, that he would be locked out if he did not return back home in time from school during winter and would have to stay out in the cold for hours on end, nearly getting frostbite a number of times. </p><p> </p><p>Mother Nature was fickle and cruel, as soon as he was a good ways away from the tunnel and was nearing Privet Drive, it had begun to sprinkle. Quickening his pace, he finally arrived at Number 4, Privet Drive. Walking up to the front doo, quite damp from the rain, he opened the door to find Vernon in the hall, ready to lock the doors. Vernon’s face went from joyful to purple with anger. Harry, without another thought, quickly made his way up the stairs to his room, completely ignoring the smell of desert in the kitchen and how it made his stomach growl with hunger. </p><p> </p><p>Petunia suddenly rushed out of the kitchen. Her boney frame looked around wildly and was searching for something. </p><p> </p><p>“VERNON!” she screeched in horror. </p><p> </p><p>“What is it Petunia?” Vernon asked with concern. </p><p> </p><p>She turned over to him and muttered something in a low tone. He froze and turned his head to stare at Harry in the deafening silence. </p><p> </p><p>The silence warned Harry. The calm before the storm, as most people would say. The look Vernon gave him in that silence was a look that he had yet to see. The air tense like a band was about to break and snap back to hit the hand of whoever was pulling the two sides apart. </p><p> </p><p>Vernon’s hands made their way to his belt and Harry knew what was to come. Fear took over his body and he froze. It seemed that all the air in the house had vanished as Vernon walked up the steps toward Harry. Then with an arm raised, Vernon swiftly brought down the belt onto Harry’s bare forearm, directly on one of the bruises. </p><p> </p><p>White hot pain flashed through Harry as his nerves received the blow. He gasped in pain. Another blow. Nearly in the same place as the first one. Harry tried to run. To escape him. But that only made him angrier, so Vernon grabbed Harry by his hair and yanked him down. Harry fell onto the floor and was then hit repeatedly. </p><p> </p><p>Blow after blow after blow, anywhere he could reach with his belt. Harry only felt the first few before going completely numb. Time had begun to warp around him as he grew disoriented. Eventually, after what could have been hours, he was tossed into his room before the door was slammed shut harshly. </p><p> </p><p>Hedwig, the wonderful friend she is, noticed the blood on Harry and immediately flew to Harry’s side. He was still cold, so she took the blanket off of his bed and laid it on him. She had also grabbed the pillow and did her best to push it under his head. Knowing that just a pillow and blanket wouldn’t be able to warm him from the cold, rain, and now drafty window, she found a place next to him and opened her wings to offer what little warmth she could give him. They both fell asleep next to each other on the floor in a pile of feathers, a pillow, and a single blanket.</p><p> </p><p>.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.&lt;&gt;.</p><p> </p><p>The next day, Harry found out that Dudley and his gang had gotten busted earlier that night for doing drugs.  Then having him walk through the door, still smelling slightly like marijuana…….With an amount of pain that even the scar that adorned his forehead could not muster, he got out of the Dursley's house, much to Hedwigs protest. Harry wandered the streets of Little Whinging and ended up right back at the bridge. He heard the same voices as he did the day before. </p><p> </p><p>Approaching the bridge, they paid him no mind as they were already high out of their minds. Going far enough under the bridge while still a fair distance away from the group, Harry attempted to sit down. Attempted. With little grace and shaking limbs, he slid down the wall and finally rested his exhausted body. Any movement from where he was was profusely protested. After an uneasy sleep, he soon began to drift off on the cool cement. </p><p> </p><p>A gentle poke to his side awoke Harry. He would like to say that he woke with eloquence and grace, but that was the exact opposite. Harry violently jerked his body away from the source of the poke and forced himself onto his feet despite the pain in his limbs and torso. His head had begun to pound viciously as his brain began to process his surroundings. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, slow down and take a breath, man,” said the boy with the curly hair, “You were twitch’en and stuff while you were sleeping.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry responded by ignoring the boy, as childish as it was. The boy just sighed and pulled out a small first aid kit behind him. </p><p> </p><p>“Look, I got some stuff to put on your bruises and some bandages if you got any cuts,” the boy said gently. “I know you probably won’t trust me,” Harry rolled his eyes, “but my friends each have their own issues so I always carry this for them, in case they need something.” </p><p> </p><p>Harry looked at the boy, the gentleness in his voice reached his eyes and his face was stained in concern. He meant what he was saying. His attention shifted when the girl squealed loudly as the boy that had spoken to him tickled her sides. </p><p> </p><p>“Harry, right?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>Harry flinched slightly as the sudden use of his name. His attention was back on to the boy.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m Aspen,” he continued, “that ass of a kid from yesterday is Brandan, Aurora is the one with red hair, and Jojo is the one with the odd hat. None of us know his real name, just that he is jacked as hell and is really quiet.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry just continued to stare at the boy in confusion. Why was this boy, who he had never met before trying to help him? It's been so long since anyone has offered to help him. Thoughts of the days after Cedric’s passing flooded his mind. Everyone thought he needed time to himself, while that was true, he also wished that they would have checked up on him. Just ask if he was doing okay. It was with these thoughts that Harry had begun to tear up slightly. </p><p> </p><p>His whole body ached and the pounding in his head did not lesson one bit. His convoluted brain registered that the boy, Aspen, was trying to help. Against his better judgement, Harry offered his bruised and cut arms to him.</p><p> </p><p>With a gentleness Harry didn’t know existed, Aspen took his arms into his hands and pulled out a cream from the first aid kit, along with some neosporin. Gingerly applying the neosporin to the cuts from the lashes, he then rubbed the cream around cuts and onto the bruises. Once he was done rubbing the cream, he placed a few bandaids onto the larger cuts and moved on to Harry’s other arm to repeat the process. </p><p> </p><p>The whole time Harry had his head hung loosely as Aspen cared for his arms wondering if this would become a usual thing. When Aspen had finished his work, Harry’s headache had only gotten worse to which he whimpered as the throbbing grew. </p><p> </p><p>“Here,” Aspen said as he held out his hand, there were two small pills in the center, “I don’t have any water on me, but these should help.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry took them from his hand and swallowed them dry. With a silent thanks, Harry rested himself back onto the wall. </p><p> </p><p>The rest of the summer was spent under that bridge. Only a few days after Aspen had helped him, did they offer to share their joints. Harry, against his better judgement, said yes. He loved it. For the first time in ages, he was not ridden with constant anxiety and actually felt happy. He returned everyday for more, soon he had begun to take an extra joint to save up for when he leaves for school. Just the occasional extra joint. </p><p> </p><p>Brandan had taken a while to warm up to him, but when he did, he showed Harry how to pick a lock so that if he was ever locked out, he could get in. Harry used this skill every night to avoid getting beaten by Vernon. Sometimes, it wouldn’t work and he was beaten ruthlessly for returning back so late. Hedwig would always take care of him those nights. Sleeping with him, doing her best to keep him warm. He knew that Hedwig had easily caught on with him doing drugs, but couldn’t stop him so she resorted to doing her best to keep Harry safe. </p><p> </p><p>Near the end of the summer, Harry was walking back to Number 4 Privet Drive when he noticed that the lights were still on. Taking a deep breath, still slightly high from earlier, he walked into the house. </p><p> </p><p>“Boy!” Vernon shouted, “Get over here.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry flinched as he shouted. Watching as their faces twisted in disgust as they caught the smell of pot, he felt proud that he could get that reaction out of them. </p><p> </p><p>“The two of us will be leaving. Don’t steal anything from the fridge or the pantry. And don’t touch any of our things,” Vernon said curtly. </p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” Harry responded. </p><p> </p><p>Harry then walked up to his room to see Hedwig awaiting him. He climbed into his bed and promptly fell asleep. </p><p> </p><p>The sound of banging woke him up from his sleep. Burglars, was his first thought. Then he heard muffled speaking that sounded exasperated. </p><p> </p><p>Tossing his blanket off, Hedwig must have put the blanket on him, he took out his wand and carefully made his way down the stairs. </p><p> </p><p>Taking note of the three silhouettes he could just barely make out in the darkness, he prepared and raised his wand. </p><p> </p><p>One of the figures turned around and the lights turned on.</p><p> </p><p>“Harry!”</p><p> </p><p>It was Sirius. </p><p> </p><p>The Order had finally come.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Update</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I apologize profusely for the lack up updating. School is uhhhhh f u n. No idea what the hell is going on in chemistry. Got a chem test and questions due tomorrow, no idea what is going on in Algebra 2, but AP Biology is going great. History/American Geography is okay most of the time. All my other classes are fine. Just math and chemistry are uhhhh y e a h.

</p>
<p>AND chapters are going to be much longer in length so then updates will take a but longer already. I haven't abandon this one too, don't worry. Just school has me almost constantly stressed.</p><p>Lesson of the day.<br/>
Avoiding school is a good idea untill the assignment is due in  .3863926291636392 seconds.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N: Comments, criticism, and your own thoughts are welcome :D</p></blockquote></div></div>
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